


Warning: Strings Attached

by Avleveri



Series: Strings Attached [1]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Connor Deserves Happiness, Domestic, Feelings, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Guitars, Hank Anderson Deserves Happiness, Happy Ending, Inspired by Music, M/M, Protective Hank Anderson, Romantic Fluff, Slow Burn, Sumo is the goodest boy, Young Hank Anderson, but im down, i don't even know whats going to happen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-26
Updated: 2018-08-01
Packaged: 2019-06-16 14:29:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15439101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Avleveri/pseuds/Avleveri
Summary: Hank wants to do something in return for Connor's kindness. It starts, and ends, with a cheap guitar and some whiskey.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Shurely](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shurely/gifts).



> First fanfiction, pls dont kill me. Shout out to my main dude for getting me into this mess, and delving neck-deep into the murky murky pool of love for Hank with me.

It wasn’t long after the revolution that Connor moved in with Hank. Their awkward hug at the Chicken Feed said it all, he could stay with him as long as he wanted.

 

They had settled into something of a domestic routine; Connor waking Hank each morning at 8:45am, Hank refusing to wake each morning at 8:47am, then eventually emerging (late) at approximately 9:17am, accompanied by what Connor had once described as ‘unsavoury language’. Who the fuck was he to judge an old man’s bad habits. Each day they would drive into work, predominantly in silence, whilst Hank half-heartedly slurped at a strong black coffee.

  
It came somewhat as a surprise when Connor has agreed to stay with him; after all, he was one of the most recognisable androids in Detroit, admired by most of his kind for his role in the revolution and freeing thousands from the walls of Cyberlife. He could do whatever he wanted, but he stayed anyway. Hank had given it much thought since; whiskey had the effect of reminding him of it. He reminded himself of how Connor deserved better, a better friend, family, partner. But lately, it took a lot more to turn him down this old path - maybe because Connor didn’t let him drink half as much as he would like to. Or maybe because he knew too well how it would hurt the android to see him going back to his old ways.

  
It was 8:30am. Connor supposed it would give Hank more time to sober up before work if he woke him early.  
“Wake up, Lieutenant,” he said. Direct and blunt, the same as every morning. He found that using ‘lieutenant’ was more effective than a calmer, softer approach. He supposed it was the reminder of his android partner breaking into the house and slapping him into sobriety that managed to shake the lieutenant out of bed that morning.

“.. Agh, fuck. Alright.” A positive start to the morning. No accompanying android slurs or insults. Connor found himself smug at this detail, though he wasn’t sure why. Perhaps it meant their relationship was improving.

  
Hank stumbled out of his room and into the hallway, hair stuck to his face and down his neck. Connor stood there, watching. He tried a cautious smile, and was met with a grunt, before his partner took to the bathroom. From this interaction, Connor determined him to be in a good mood. Though despite his advanced programming and ability to solve cases more efficiently than anyone else at the DPD, his partner was still something he was struggling to completely understand. He liked the challenge.  
Hank drove them to work that morning, a quiet hum of otherwise deafening metal diffusing from the radio. The same CD for the last 4 months and 3 days, the oldest work of the ‘Knights of the Black Death’. Connor didn’t appreciate their music, even if he commended their ‘energy’, but Hank seemed to enjoy it. This meant that Connor also enjoyed it, or at least enjoyed his partner self-consciously nodding his head in the car. He liked how his hair swung around his face when his favourite song came on.

“Do you have any other music? I have downloaded approximately 34,750 tracks from 350 genres including ‘ska’ and ‘Americana’.” Hank squinted at this, his eyebrows knitted together in what looked like fatigue and annoyance all at once.

“What’s wrong with this, huh?” His tone was threatening. Connor ignored it, recognising it as his normal mood before 11am. “Nothing. I have told you before, I enjoy heavy metal. However it has been shown in several studies that listening to different music-“

“Alright, alright. Zip it with the science shit. Put something you want on. Nearly there anyway, if I need to jump ship and walk.” They both knew Hank would walk precisely nowhere if he could sit in a warm car. The LED on Connor’s head began spinning yellow. He leaned forward to the radio, ejecting the cd, proceeding to turn the tuning wheel around until the static cleared to what sounded like folk music. The rhythm was quick, with a gruff voice singing over the top, accompanied by a range of instruments Connor appreciated a lot more than screaming old men.

Hank winced, looking at this partner. “The fuck is this shit? All the music in the world and you pick this fucking acoustic trash. You know, the only people who listen to this are old hipsters from the 2000s and sad teens that can’t handle real-“

Connor didn’t respond. Instead, he turned the music up louder and offered a smirk to the disgruntled officer at his side. “Alright, I get it,” Hank squirms. “No need to fucking deafen me to prove a point!” Connor looks to his side again, LED circling yellow. “Your ears have not been damaged from the increased volum-“

The car grinds to a halt outside the police station, Hank leaving before he can finish his sentence.

Through his feigned annoyance, he felt a little humbled. Connor had shared another part of himself, not a pre-programmed response to a stimulus, or part of a protocol to appease Hank. Something more human. A smile crept up to his face as he remembered Connor humming along to the tune in the car, blissfully unaware of how human he really was. And how much Hank enjoyed seeing it, seeing him happy.

The android was humming again in the escalator. Hank conjured up the energy (it’s still morning, he’s not used to functioning before noon) to exaggerate an exasperated sigh and roll his eyes at his companion. After wandering around the office, trying to kill time before facing Reed again, he reached his desk, a brown paper bag sat perfectly upright in the centre. As he turned to see what was going on, Connor was standing behind him. Close, upright, calm.

“You said last week that I was “sucking the joy out of your fucking life” in response to the diet plan I constructed for you. In response, I have read 37 different low cholesterol doughnut recipes. Each doughnut inside the bag is from a different recipe, to determine which you find most palatable.”  
Hank stood in silence. Connor remembered everything, even the words which rushed out of his mouth before he could prevent them. This was an unnecessary gift, and one he certainly didn’t deserve. The effort it must have taken to make each of these differently. His favourite, too. He felt humbled, and a little embarrassed at the gesture. Like a snake coiling around his body, the little self-loathing feeling he was all too familiar with crept back into his heart, making his stomach drop. He rubbed the back of his neck with his hand, trying to conceal the blush developing across his face, and muttered his thanks. Connor smiled and walked back to his desk. That little smile. How was it that he ended up partners with a person so kind to him? When all he offered back was sarcastic comments, rude responses or nothing at all. This gesture stalled him - how can a person so selflessly provide something it’s such meaning to him, and expect nothing in return? His cheeks reddened again. Was he flattered? Was he embarrassed? Was he surprised? He grabbed the bag and took off back out of the office, before Connor had chance to call his name.

He hurried out into the street. The best way to deal with emotions after all, is to run away. Well, the second-best way. The first involves staring into the bottom of a bottle. He had to find a way to show his android that he was grateful. He had to show him that he cares, that he was not indifferent, even if he tried to seem that way. He reciprocated the affection, or whatever the fuck Connor felt towards him. How could he not? His life had completely changed since having Connor around.

The idea of Connor feeling indifference from Hank made his throat tight and his stomach squeeze. He hated that he had been so blind these months, just taking all the kindness he was offered. Take take take. That was when he saw the music shop along the street.  
Pushing through the town, he made his way to the shop window. A young female android left the shop as he arrived, smiling at him briefly as she left with her partner. The only recognisable feature left on her was her LED, and those were becoming more and more scarce as androids fully integrated into society. Or tried to. The reducing number of anti-android crimes showed that it was working, albeit gradually. He paused, looking into the shop window. His hair was greyer, his chest hairier and his belly significantly bigger, but he still recognised the man in the reflection as the tall blonde frontman From decades ago. He briefly scanned the road to either side of him, then slowly, and self-consciously, pulled his hair through his fingers, holding it into a ponytail at the back of his head. He remembered it well, and scoffed at his own reminiscence. At least he didn’t wear the leather trousers any more. How the fuck would Connor respond to that.

His eyes lose focus, and he sees an acoustic guitar in the window. It had been decades since he last held one of those. Bass was more his scene. But this was Connors.

“Can I help you sir?” A woman with short choppy hair and piercings pokes her head around the door. It’s enough to startle Hank out of his reminiscing. “Yeah. Uh. I would like this guitar.” He buys it, then scurries home with a smug look on his face.

He thinks about the look on Connors face when he hears him play, and his heart misses a beat. The thought of him sat in on the sofa next to him, swamped in one of Hank’s DPD hoodies with Sumo’s sleepy head draped over his knees, humming along to the guitar, slapped a wide grin across the Lieutenant’s face. How can an android he once hated have such an effect on him now? Maybe he was getting softer in his old age. Maybe.  
There was only one established house rule which came about after Connor moved in - he could not go into Hanks wardrobe. It seemed stupid really, he was allowed to go anywhere else, and he’d dunked a drunken Hank into bed enough times to know his way around the bedroom. But not the wardrobe. An excellent hiding place for a guitar.  
Connor returned from work to an empty house. He was worried, he didn’t like Hank being missing. In case he was in danger. His LED flashed red briefly as he considered where he might be. His shoulders relaxed as he read the note on the kitchen table: GONE OUT. BACK SOON. DON’T WAIT UP. HANK. At least he was alright then. But where had he gone? He shouldn’t be concerned. Hank had his own life, and had reminded him of the fact multiple times, especially after drinking and making poor decisions. He decided to settle in front of the television.

The lieutenant was at Jimmys. No surprise there. But this time, he was sober. And with a guitar. Forcing his way through the embarrassment of walking through the bar, past all the other regulars, into the room at the back, was a mission in itself. The room was dusty, several windows bordered up and large drapes covering upturned tables and chairs. The room hadn’t been used for years, ever since the drugs bust of ‘28. The boys at the DPD had trashed the place, storming through to get some lifeless red ice dealer. Hank doesn’t remember it, he wasn’t there. He was sitting in the dark of his kitchen with a gun in his hand, thinking about his son who had died a month before.  
Jimmy followed him into the room, flipping a table to place a glass of whiskey on top. He knew better than to interrogate Hank, a man he’d been watching drink himself stupid for the best part of a decade. So he just sat there, watching as he aimlessly tested his muscle memory for the chords across the frets. Shit, it had been a long time since he did this. Too long. He felt through the songs he once knew, reminding himself of the shaggy singer with a bass guitar screaming his heart out. After an hour, Jimmy left, shaking his head quietly with a smile on his face.

  
Hank sounded good. He gets home a little before midnight. Connor was still on the sofa, eyes closed. He snuck past, shoving the guitar in his wardrobe.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank is at Jimmys. There's an argument. Sumo isn't harmed, he just sleeps a lot. Small cuddle???

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be a 1-chapter fic but I have so much stupid plot boiling within me that its time for round two. Hope you enjoy!

The car journey to work went as it normally went, Hank driving, Connor looking straight ahead through the windscreen. No talking. But for the fourth time this week, Connor picked the music.

It took the Lieutenant all of 2.5 minutes to lose the stern expression on his face at his partners choice, his shoulders loosening as he glanced to the side to see Connor nodding and tapping his fingers to the beat. He was shy, still unsure of how to react as a human would. Hank loved the innocence of him, the naivety. And oddly enough, he even started to enjoy the music a little more, though he wouldn’t admit it to himself.

 ----

Hank had been going to Jimmy’s three or four nights a week with his guitar for about a month, always when Connor was working late, or with Markus and Simon. He didn’t know what they got up to, nor did he ask. Privacy works both ways. The frequency of his visits was the same, so it seemed less suspicious to Connor, though the activity different: less drinking, more practicing. He was getting a lot better, both at the guitar, and in mood. He could feel it. Who knew that doing something you enjoyed would make you feel happier. Or at least, less sad.

“I never knew you could play,” Jimmy had hesitated one evening. He was quietly happy for the guy, even if he was losing money from his best customer; he had cut down on the whiskey a lot since this weird project began.

“Yeah. Never thought I’d remember it. Played as a teen. Lanky fucking guy screaming anger out to the world. Some things don’t change, I guess.” Hank had taken to tying his hair up, keeping it out of his face. The shorter bits at the front still got away though. He pushed them behind his ear as he kept playing. Jimmy sat and watched. His friend was in a better mood than he had been for months.

“Why are you doing this, Hank?” Jimmy sighed. He didn’t know how else to ask, and Hank usually responded best to blunt and straightforward remark. No sarcasm in his voice, no judgement, just curiosity. Hank stopped playing and looked up at his friend.

“I… Uh. Can’t a guy take up a fucking hobby?” He found irritation to be his first response; too many years with too much shit to be patient. And he knew what Jimmy was like, better interrogator than he was, when he was suspicious of something.

 “Well, sure. But why here? Domestic life treating ya bad?” Jimmy sneered at his own question. He knew he was pushing it.

He hesitates, sighs. “Nothing like that. Just need time on my own.” Jimmy put a glass of whiskey on the table by the side of the door, then turned to leave.

“Well”, he suggested, “If its to do with that android pet of yours, I could get rid of it for you. No trouble. We protect our own.” He walked out, leaving Hank looking at the floor in silence.

 Jimmy had always been anti-android. Hell, they both were for a long time, spreading that motto around to fuel some secretive anti-android mob that Hank had very little to do with. He muttered it under his breath, a little horrified at what he once was. ‘We protect our own.’ Own what? Species? Hank had enough of humans for that sentiment to be lost, even when he was part of the group. People? He faltered at the thought. Androids _are_ people. At least, Connor certainly is. And fuck if he wasn’t going to protect him until the end of his days.

Since Jimmy found out about Connor, he had been more than a little pissed off at his friend’s change of heart. There was no explaining to a man like that. Stubborn, resigned and not just a little betrayed. They agreed not to discuss it again. How could he understand what Connor meant to him? Hank didn’t even understand what Connor meant to him. And to consider him as his ‘android pet’, that was enough to fuel the rage burning in his gut. He downed the whiskey, hastily leaving the room, slamming the door on his way out.

“Firstly, that android, that _person_ , has a name, it’s Connor. Second, you, or any of your fucking ‘people’ go near him and I’ll kick your ass so hard you’ll wake up in fucking Tahiti.”

He was shouting, pointing at Jimmy, knowing full well that everyone was listening. He didn’t care. The thought of anyone, _anyone,_ hurting Connor made him livid. The crowd parted around him as he stormed out of the bar, silent. He felt the heat steam up his cheeks and his eyes start to sting. He needed a fucking break.

Connor wasn’t at home. Sumo lay across the sofa, softly humming himself into sleep. Hank dumped the guitar into his wardrobe, grabbed at the bottle of whiskey on the side and poured it out into a mug, before collapsing next to his dog. Sumo looked up without moving, raising his eyebrows to give Hank that wide-eyed stare, capable of melting even the harshest frown lines into non-existence.

“Hey boy. Long day, huh? Me too. Me too.”

He heard the key turning in the door, looking around as Connor walked into the living room, groceries brimming out of the bags he carried in both hands.

“Good evening Lieutenant,” he spoke calmly, cautious. He sounded worried. Hank looked at him, offering a small smile, in some way to reassure him that he was fine. He was exhausted. Connor received it well, loosening his shoulders, placing the shopping on the kitchen counter.

“I thought you would enjoy some pizza. I have downloaded the recipe and found 13 ways to lower the calorie content whilst still maintaining the toppings that you enjoy, including olives, pepperoni and extra cheese”.

Hank scoffed. “Jesus, Connor. What would I do without you, huh?” He walked around to where he was standing, assessing the contents of the shopping bags with feigned interest.

“I only bought what you would have wanted.” he said, his intonation suggesting surprise at his partners mood. What was he feeling?

Hank looks up at him. “Yeah, I know.” He paused. “You always know what’s good for me, huh.” Quietly.

Connor didn’t know what to say. He looked up at the Lieutenant, LED circling yellow. He didn’t understand this sentiment, nor how to respond to it appropriately. They stayed looking at each other for a moment. Hank coughed awkwardly and looked away.

“Wanna watch the game? Starts in a few minutes.” He pours out and downs another glass of whiskey and makes his way back to the sofa. Connor’s LED is still yellow. He stands there, not knowing what to do.

“I… I have not seen your hair tied this way, Lieutenant”. Hank looks around at Connor, still standing. He forgot about the hairband. Shit. He pulls it out quickly, turning back to the TV.

“Uh. Trying something new, I guess. You gonna watch this with me or not?” Connor sits down, still looking at Hank. Hank pulls him under his arm, ruffling his hair with the other hand. He keeps his hand on Connor’s shoulder. He looks at Hank, smirking a little as he looks back at Connor. There’s a loud exhalation before the Lieutenant sinks into the sofa a little more, bringing Connor with him.

Connor smiles. He doesn’t understand this sudden intimacy, but he doesn’t mind. Hank’s heart rate has increased. Maybe Connor's would have to, if he'd had one. He felt different, warm. Sumo went back to sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor gets his wires crossed (ha sorry) and its v cute. Hank doesn't know what to think ever

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2 updates in one day? What am I doing with my life
> 
> I hope you all like this, it was fun to write! Hit me up with any critiques in the comments

Hank’s mood had been improving steadily over the last two months. He had been more open with Connor, and, one morning, he even greeted Fowler without the usual venom in his voice. Connor wondered what was going on with his partner. He had been accustomed to a certain level of bitterness, hardened to the Lieutenant’s insults, to his harsh words. But lately he found his partner considerably more stable. They had been speaking more, not just about music and work but about other things: Sumo, the Lieutenant’s old hobbies (namely, badminton, which Connor was surprised by), old movies and even, briefly, a mention of Cole. In return, Connor had spoken less about Hank’s poor eating (and drinking) habits, and more about his difficulties in getting used to life without Amanda. The Lieutenant didn’t understand the concept of “Amanda”, but hated her nonetheless.

His understanding of the progression of relationships was minimal, considering his primary functions didn’t much involve domestic life or friendships. His LED flashed yellow as he searched through his databases to find a solution: he needed to know the reasons for the changes in his partner, and how to ensure that he continues to improve in health.

_Menopause for men_

_Managing depression_

_Reasons to be happy_

_Symptoms of being high_

_Symptoms of being in love_

_How to be less grumpy_

The suggestions were providing useful, but not the precise diagnosis for which Connor was searching. Human behavioural clues were not as clear as the physical evidence of a crime scene; he couldn’t exactly study Hank with the analysing sensors in his mouth. The depths of human emotions were difficult to understand.

“You’re spending a lot of time at Jimmy’s, Lieutenant”. He stated it, but his curiosity was plain from the slight tilt of his head as he stated it.

He was wearing one of Hank’s old DPD sweaters, despite the warmer spring temperatures. Hank’s house was always freezing anyway, and since Connor started feeling cold (an error in his programming, he had been told), he wore the jumper often.

“No more than usual. Best place for a whiskey.” He responded without looking over, attention directed at stroking the large furry form splayed across his lap.

“The last seventeen times you have told me you were at Jimmy’s you have returned with your blood alcohol content below 0.04. This indicates that you were not drunk, and would only have had one or two glasses of whiskey. Your usual habit is at least 4 glasses, raising your blood alcohol content to at least 0.07. If your intention therefore is not to get drunk, what is your reason for being there so often?”

Hank looked up from his dog, eyebrows pulling his forehead down into deep-set frown lines. He had noticed the change in behaviour then. At least he hadn’t discovered the guitar. Connor was not upset, nor was he angry. He was just concerned. The Lieutenant hadn’t seen a look of sincere concern directed his way in years – a human interaction he didn’t know he missed. His face relaxed as he hid a small smile from his partner, summoned by the thought of Connor caring for him. He thought again of how undeserving he was. But how he was grateful nonetheless, knowing that it wasn’t the android’s programming making him care. It was just Connor, all Connor.

“Why, d’ya miss me?” He was looking at Sumo again, then peered up at Connor with a small flirtatious pout. He knew he was teasing, testing the waters to see a reaction.

“No. I mean, I wonder where you are and often wish to speak with you. The concept of missing someone is not something I often identify with. But perhaps yes, I missed your company. You are my only friend, after all.”

Shit. He wasn’t expecting that at all. Why was he always so fucking honest, so sincere. Only friend? He had Markus, he had Simon, he had some of the other Jericho gang. Hell, he could have a lot of friends that Hank didn’t know about. Connor didn’t speak about them very much.

“Well that ain’t true. You got your other android pals, Markus, Simon-“ “Yes. But they are not you.”

Connor paused, looking down at his feet. He was so blunt, so matter-of-fact, Hank didn’t quite know what to say. How was he different from his other friends? He was the only human, he determined, and considerably older. He was also cantankerous and really fucking mean, sometimes. But the way he had said it, as if he…. No. He wouldn’t think more about it. He wouldn’t respond.

“I just like it there, alright? Jesus, give me a break.” Like a wild animal, he was back on the defensive, snappy. He wanted to be left alone.

“Oh. I’m sorry, Lieutenant. I was only inquiring. I… I will leave you alone” He had never sounded so robotic. He walked through the hallway and out of the front door, before Hank could say anything else.

Why was this so hard? He felt guilty for upsetting his partner. And he was doing so well, gradually warming up to him, showing him more affection… He sighed, pulled his hair back up into a scruffy bun, and moved to his room.

 

 

He hadn’t heard the door as Connor came back in two hours later. Thankfully he had just put the guitar back in its usual position in the corner of the wardrobe, remembering to yank his hair back down and over his face.

“Lieutenant?” …

“Lieutenant?” …

“Lieu-"

“Yeah, yeah. I’m here.”

Connor opened the door into Hank’s room. His face was sparkling a little, his hair damp. Must be raining, then. It was silent for a few moments, Connor lingering in the doorway as Hank sat on his bed, leaning over his hands crossed in his lap. He looked up, hair draping across his face.

“Nice walk?”

“Yes. I went to see Markus. We talked about his relationship with Carl Manfred, his previous owner.”

“Oh yeah?” He paused. “Why’s that?”

“There was something I was struggling to understand. I thought he might be able to help me. As an RK200, designed to assist humans in a domestic setting, his programming differs from mine in some ways. He has a more detailed understanding of humans, I suppose.”

Hank was starting to get nervous. What was Connor getting at?

“Okay… What do you need all this advice for?” He gulped.

“Your behaviour has been different lately. I have conducted some research to determine the cause. I believe that you are in a new romantic relationship.”

Hank guffawed, chuckling in disbelief. He shook his head. Connor had been worrying that he was in a relationship. He was learning the guitar, and Connor thought he was dating. He even asked Markus, because a fucking android would be the expert on human behaviour, for help understanding him.

“What the fuck Connor,” he managed between chuckles, gradually letting the bubbles of amusement fizzle away. “You’re incorrect there, buddy”.

His LED swirled yellow. His shoulders relaxed. His face was expressionless, but slowly his lips turned upwards into a minute smile directed to the ground.

“You honestly think I was fucking around with someone from Jimmy’s. You think that someone would be interested in this fat old cop?” He chuckled again, briefly. Connor had not heard the sound before. The Lieutenant stood up from his bed, walking towards the doorway, towards his partner. Connor’s face was serious, as he gradually looked up at Hank, eyes peeling away from the floor.

 

“Yes,” he said.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank gets upset and confused (isn't that his normal state in this fic tho) and Connor receives a gift. RK900 features briefly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eek sorry this is being dragged out but there's so many ideas floating in my mind  
> At some point I do intend on returning back to the principal aim of the story (Hank + guitar) however I'm also in it for the slow feelings reveal ;) I get overexcited when posting so if there's grammatical errors feel free to comment. I hope this makes you as warm and fuzzy as I tried to write Hank lmao
> 
> Hope you like it!

Hank had been treating Connor differently today. He had not expected to make him uncomfortable in his room last night but could tell that he had through the Lieutenant’s elevated heart rate and his increased perspiration.

He was disappointed to have rejected the idea of Hank being with another person. Considering all his observations, the improved mood, the frequent visits to Jimmy’s, the changes to his tone and _even_ to his sleep routine (Hank had been waking earlier without Connor’s persuasion), he was certain of Hank’s relationship. Connor didn’t like not knowing the real reason. After all, he was programmed to solve cases. Hank’s was proving much more difficult than he expected.

He walked into work alone that morning. The Lieutenant had muttered something about going to get something done alone before work. This was unusual behaviour, considering they always drove in together.

He walked past Reed’s desk, glancing at him as he abruptly shifted his feet from the desk, tearing his eyes away from the game on his phone and back onto the computer screen in front of him. He looked paler than usual. His temperature was slightly elevated, yet it seemed he was wearing more layers; he concluded that he was experiencing the early symptoms of flu. The Lieutenant would be pleased.

Where was he?

He started working on the cases of the week, not looking up until he saw the Lieutenant walking in, coffee in hand, and plonking himself at his desk. He smiled to himself. He was only 35 minutes late today. Looking at the clock, he also realised that it had been six months since he first met his partner. His smile grew wider in response.

 ----

Fuck. He had no idea how to act around Connor any more. He was still rattled after last night. The honesty and sincerity in Connor’s voice at the end of their conversation, those brown eyes looking up at him… No. He couldn’t think of it. Taking a mouthful of too-hot coffee, he tried to focus on the task at hand.

An android had been attacked two nights ago, his left arm completely removed, his jaw disjointed at an awkward angle. Not unusual, and a simple case: the attacker was caught on camera, after all. He sighed at the stupidity of it. As he looked through the file, a photo of the android slid out. His breath caught.

Connor. How could that be? Fuck. He frantically tore his eyes away from the screen, searching for his partner across the room. He was there, of course, unharmed. Relief surged through his chest, his pulse slowing to its normal rate again, the throbbing receding from his wrists.

He remembered the upgraded Connor at the Cyberlife Tower. How he had nearly killed his partner, his _partner,_ because of it. He shot it then, in the head. Who was this other android? His mind was running  slow, his hands shaking.

“Connor….”

“Yes Lieutenant?” He moves to his side at once, looking at the photo.

“What the fuck?”

Connor is silent for a moment, his LED spinning yellow.

“Oh. Another RK900.”

“A what?” Hank stares at him in disbelief. Sure, he had seen androids of the same model before, hundreds of times. They all had the same face, the same body. But since the revolution, most had chosen to express themselves through their hair, clothes, some even writing tattoos into their skin. Seeing a model, identical to Connor in every way, lying without an arm,  his uniform stained with the blue blood draining from the wound, was disconcerting. Hank was horrified.

“I thought. I thought it was you for a second”. He gulped.

“Lieutenant, you seem to be under stress. It was inevitable that my model would be replaced by another. I am, as you know, only a prototype.” He remembered something Amanda had said, about fixing the errors in his programming, about the development of a faster, stronger, improved version of himself.

Hank was speechless. Why had this affected him so much? He had seen _hundreds_ of androids with the same face. Hell, when Connor released all those androids at the Cyberlife, they were all identical. He stayed frozen in his place.

“Lieutenant.”

“Hank?”

He looked up at Connor, standing beside him, LED swirling yellow.

“It’s.. it’s not me. It might look like me, but it isn’t. It’s just another model. With a lot of humans leaving Detroit after the revolution, it makes sense that my model has been upgraded. I was designed specifically for a role in the police force, but the programming I was equipped with would make me suitable for other roles, such as ca-“

“Yeah, I get it. Fuck. Just another model, huh.” He growls, his frown deep.

“Not you.” He glances at his partner, scanning his body as best he can. Nope, his arm is definitely there.

“No.” Connor stands, looking down at Hank sat next to him. Heart rate increased, hands shaking a little. What was this? Anger? Nervousness? He couldn’t place it. He put his hand on the Lieutenant’s shoulder.

Hank slumped back in his chair in response. He sighed, unfurled his eyebrows and relaxed his shoulders a little. His hand reached Connor’s, placed tentatively on his shoulder, and tapped it. He smiles.

“Good. Fuck me, it’s been a long day.”

“It’s 11:30am.”

“Right. Time for a fucking break.” Hank offers a reassuring smile, reciprocated. Rising out of his seat, Connor’s hand falling back to his side. He grabbed his jacket, walking out of the office.

“Jesus, Hank, you only just got-“

Reed swivels in his chair, eyeing up the Lieutenant as he leaves. Hank pauses, sticks his fingers up at the smug as fuck little prick staring at him, then continues on his way.

\----

Connor stays where he is for a moment, processing. It was clear that Hank was upset, shaken by the photograph of the android. He must have known it wasn’t him; they had hardly been apart for the last week. He had even met an RK900 before, albeit briefly and in unpleasant circumstances. But that time, it hadn’t elicited the same response. The same nerves, the same _fear._ He had noticed the relief spreading through the Lieutenant’s from the hand Connor had placed on his shoulder. He noticed the relief spreading through his own body in response. He hadn’t seen Hank so perturbed before. It made him uncomfortable.

He left the office that afternoon, determined to confront Hank about his behaviour. He understood that he needed his privacy, but he was concerned. He headed back home, hoping to find him there.

\---

Hank was sitting on the sofa with a beer in his hand as Connor walked in. He wasn’t in the mood for Jimmy’s. He had walked Sumo, who was now loudly purring from the corner of the room. Connor walked in, sitting himself in the armchair opposite Hank.

“Good evening, Lieutenant,” he said, a neutral expression sculpting his features.

“Hi Connor.” The lieutenant was not drunk, this was his first drink. He seemed exhausted.

“I am concerned about you. I would like to know what you are hiding from me, and if there is a problem, I would like to be able to fix it.” Connor looked straight ahead, feeling Hank sigh next to him.

“There’s nothing wrong with me.”

“You have been acting differently around me for some time. My sensors indicate that your body-“

“Don’t. What have I said about fucking analysing me?” Hank isn’t angry. He meets Connor’s gaze, exasperated. He is tired of trying to explain himself, tired of keeping his feelings a secret, when whatever it is he _is_ actually feeling is chipping away at him each day. Connor moves off the sofa, standing upright. He pulls his tie off, followed by his jacket, before grabbing the hoodie from the back of the armchair and hastily pulling it over himself. Hank scoffs. There’s a fist-sized hole in the back of it, but when Hank offered to get him his own, he bluntly refused.

 

“I got you something.” He breaks the silence.

“Oh?” Connor’s head is tilted, his LED briefly flashing yellow before returning to the cool blue Hank knew was safer. He’s eager to see what Hank had got him. Perhaps it would give him a clue as to the recent behaviour of his partner.

Hank pulled himself out of the sofa, meeting Connor’s gaze as they stand close to one another. He walks around to the kitchen, pulling out a small parcel from the cupboard in front of him.

Connor knows already what it is. His face lights up as he opens the paper, looking at the new CD enclosed. He had been playing the previous album frequently in the car, and had suggested the artist to be his preferred artist. _Chris Stapleton_. He knew the gift was completely unnecessary, that he could easily download and listen to it alone. But Hank had bought him this, knowing how much he enjoyed the music, even though he himself didn’t. He knew that he would be subject to it in the car for possibly weeks, knowing that Connor was now in full control of the stereo. He felt a flutter in the pit of his stomach, and another in his chest, where his heart would be.

“This is very kind, Lieutenant, I-“

Before he could finish his sentence, the Lieutenant had wrapped his arms around him, in a tight grip. He didn’t know what to do with his hands, but after a moment rested them on his back. He had only done this once before, outside the Chicken Feed months ago. The warmth of their embrace had shocked him then, but now he let it surround his body, soften his features, soften his posture. His chest swelled. He felt happiness. He realised he wanted to stay like this for a long time.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor goes to find Hank at Jimmy's. He finds a man playing his favourite song in a dark room under the moonlight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter (?)  
> The big reveal! I hope you like it :3  
> You should definitely listen to "Tennessee Whiskey" by Chris Stapleton before you read this.... just saying

Hank was becoming distant again. As soon as he felt as though he might be progressing his relationship with the Lieutenant, his actions changed over. He wasn’t talking as much on the journeys to work, he was getting a lot less sleep. Where he once looked at Connor and smiled tentatively across the office, he now shifts his gaze to the floor if their eyes meet. He must be hiding something. It made him agitated, the thought of the Lieutenant going out of his way to ignore him, even to hide from him. His shoulders sank as he considered it, Sumo resting his head across his legs.

\---

Jimmy’s was quieter than usual tonight. He hadn’t been there in a while, but he needed a break from the house. From Connor. He sat in the corner of the back room, shrouded in darkness.

He remembered this feeling well. This ache in his chest, which seemed to spread through his bones, leaving him weak and tired. He held his head in his hands, the guitar lying out on his lap. He had lost sight of what he was doing this for.

Connor was intelligent, attractive, young. He was grumpy, old, and not exactly on the slim side. Yet when the android looked at him, with such curiosity, such care, and when he was so clearly devoted to his health and happiness, he couldn’t help but think that maybe, _maybe,_ he stood a chance at something more than what they were. He drowned the thought out with the whiskey at his side.

The truth was, Hank had no idea what to do. He didn’t even know what he was feeling, let alone how to control it, how to react to it. So many years he had spent numbing his hurt made him wary of feeling anything at all. And completely unequipped to deal with anything even remotely emotional. He decided to pick up his guitar, softly strumming out the rhythm of one of the songs Connor had been playing in the car every morning. Must be his favourite.

 

—-

He couldn’t sit down any more. This case, his partners case, had been perplexing him for weeks, and he needed to know what was going on. He was scared for Hank, for his friend, his partner. He had to help.

It was raining as he stepped outside. Dark clouds clustered around a full moon, the wind whipping up little puffs of rain and chill around him. The street lights lit his face a pale silver as he walked straight to the place he knew he could find Hank: Jimmys.

The ‘No Androids’ sign was posted on the door. Some people don’t change. He walked in nonetheless, ignoring the mutters of protest from two men nursing their drinks in the corner of the room. Jimmy was behind the bar, cleaning a glass with a cloth, leaning on the side of the bar.

“What do you want, robot?” He said, without any real malice. He was exhausted, trying to assert himself with no real energy, to put on a front when all he really cared about was clocking off for the night.

“Lieutenant Anderson. Have you seen him?”

Jimmy put the glass down next to him, exhaling loudly. He didn’t say anything, just nodded his head in the general direction of the entrance to the back room. Connor nodded in thanks, turning towards exit of the bar.

The hallway that greeted him was dark, lit only by the moonlight pushing its way through the clouds and into the window at the far end. It was dusty, the walls damp around him. He could see a faint orange glow seeping through the bottom of the door at the far end. Hank was there then.

He paused, processing. How was he going to approach this? What was he going to say? What if Hank is with another person? His LED flashed red at the idea, a strange sensation tightening his throat. _Jealousy?_ He walked over to the door.

 

—-

Hank felt calmer. He had been playing for over an hour, the same song, over and over. It helped him keep his thoughts at bay, focusing his mind on something other than whatever the fuck he was feeling. He actually found himself enjoying the music he was playing, and had been self-consciously humming the tune for a while. He took another sip of whiskey, smiling as he thought of the song. A small chuckle bubbled out of him. Fuck it. He started to sing.

“You’re as smooth…. As Tennessee whiskey…”

His voice was hoarse, gruff, low. But within a few lines he was lost again in what he was playing. He remembered how he sounded those years ago, screaming at the top of his lungs to whoever was desperate enough to hear him listen. He wondered what his past self, that heavy metal-loving, high-energy teenager he could never erase from memory, would think of him now. Singing a fucking country song to himself, half-drunk on whiskey, in a dusty old bar. Alone.

He didn’t notice the door quietly click as it was pushed open behind him. He was singing softly, looking out of the one window which wasn’t bordered up with wood. The moon reflected on his features, his hair whitening under the light, his blue eyes fixed upon the moon. Connor thought he looked peaceful, calm.

 

—-

He could feel his thirium pump throbbing in his chest. His arms felt shaky, unstable. His LED flashed yellow, red, yellow, red. He hadn’t anticipated this at all. He knew the song immediately, it was his favourite. Chris Stapleton. How did Hank know? He stood, eyes fixed on Hank’s back, processing. He hadn’t been seen. He could walk back home, Hank wouldn’t know he was here. But something, _something_ , prevented him from moving. The fluttering in his stomach was only getting worse, his internal processors must have been malfunctioning. Maybe that would also explain the heat rising to his cheeks, or the stinging behind his eyes as he sat down on the floor behind him. He shut them, listening.

Hank was still playing, completely undisturbed by the entrance of his partner. His eyes were closed, his voice following the tune he was strumming with ease. Connor could watch him for hours.

It was another minute before Hank opened his eyes, sighing as he continued playing. He could never remember all the words. Maybe it was the alcohol finally hitting him. He continued to hum through the chorus.

“I stay stoned, on your love, all the time.”

 

 

His head jolted up as he realised he wasn’t alone. Catching a detective like him off guard was next-to impossible, even in his slightly inebriated state. He stopped playing immediately, turning around to see Connor, now standing, eyes on the floor. His heart thumped hard behind his chest as he saw his partner, soaked, in his stupid oversized hoodie and jeans, looking as if he’d just stood on Sumo’s paw.

Fuck.

“Lieutenant- Hank, I- I was concerned about you, I thought you might be in danger or-“

Hank sighed, taking a step closer to his partner, resting the guitar against the table he was sitting against. His cheeks were flaring red, but the darkness had hidden it. He rubbed the back of his neck, before pulling his hair out from its tie. His arms fell to his side.

“I did not mean to intrude. I know I shouldn’t have come here, but I was concerned that-“ His LED flashes yellow. “You haven’t been yourself around me for many weeks, I thought perhaps you were getting sick or were intentionally keeping something away from-”

“Connor.” Hank took another step closer. His heart was really racing now. What was he doing? He nudged his hand below Connor’s chin, tilting his face up towards him. Fuck. His face glistened under the tiny beam of moonlight emerging from the window, his eyes wide with disbelief. He looked fucking divine. Hank stared, his mouth falling slightly open at the picture before him.

 

——-

His LED circled yellow, then switched to blue. He understood. The heat coming from Hank’s touch, his elevated heartrate. His pupils slightly dilated as he looks at him, the dark bags under his eyes from lack of sleep. He had seen these symptoms all along, but it wasn’t until then that they started clicking together, puzzle pieces locking into each other to form the answer he had been searching for all this time. The answer he had been _hoping_ for all this time. A smile lit his face, and Hank thought he had never seen someone so happy.

“Connor, I. You weren’t meant to- Not yet-“ He stuttered, the words caught in his throat as if made from glass. He let his hand fall back to his side. It was his turn to look at the floor. He didn’t deserve to even look at the man in front of him.

“Hank, please.” Connor’s voice was unsteady. He stepped forward, closing the gap between them. Reaching his hand forward, he mimicked Hank, nudging Hank’s chin until their eyes met again. His eyes were tired, silver hair dangling in front of his nose. He smiled again, cautiously, as his hand wandered across his cheek, pushing the stray hair off his face. Another spike in his heart rate. He was sure he got it right this time.

He moved his hands either side of his face, cradling his head. Connor was certain his body was malfunctioning, the number of apparent errors coming up in front of his eyes. He stepped forward, their bodies touching, Hank’s warmth surrounding them both. Connor could feel the pulse in his neck, steady below his fingers.

“It’s me, isn’t it?” He whispers.

“Yeah.” The unsteady response made Connor’s body ache.

Their eyes met again. Connor smiled, shaking his head slightly in disbelief. A look, and then complete understanding. The warnings behind his eyes fade out, one by one, until all he saw was the intense blue eyes looking back into his own. He reached up, wrapping his arms around Hank’s neck.

“I don’t know what to say.”

“Then don’t.” His voice rumbles low, his hands trembling at the intensity of Connor’s stare.

His arms reached tentatively around Connor’s back, pulling him closer. They stayed like this for a long time; foreheads together, eyes closed.


End file.
